Poems begining by A
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Awake, My Heart
© Robert Seymour Bridges
The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break,
It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake
The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake!
Absence
© Robert Seymour Bridges
When my love was away,
Full three days were not sped,
I caught my fancy astray
Thinking if she were dead,
A Passer-by
© Robert Seymour Bridges
Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,
Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,
That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,
Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
A Weed is a flower in the wrong place
© Ian Emberson
A weed is a flower in the wrong place,
a flower is a weed in the right place,
if you were a weed in the right place
you would be a flower;
At the grave of Anastasia Baluk Cross Stone
© Ian Emberson
Anastasia
and the sad snow fallinga toiling sky
and a long white line of hillsa distant birthplace
short span and early dyingpain from what heaven
Aloneness
© Ian Emberson
Loneliness and aloneness
they are not the samefor the shell of the mind
hears echoes of many seasit hears the calling of gulls
from this savage skyand an ebbing tide
An Epitaph On The Marchioness Of Winchester
© John Milton
This rich Marble doth enterr
The honour'd Wife of Winchester,
A Vicounts daughter, an Earls heir,
Besides what her vertues fair
At A Solemn Musick
© John Milton
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy,
Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
Arcades
© John Milton
Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of
Darby at Harefield, by som Noble persons of her Family, who
appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat
of State with this Song.
Another On The Same
© John Milton
Here lieth one who did most truly prove,
That he could never die while he could move,
So hung his destiny never to rot
While he might still jogg on, and keep his trot,
At A Vacation Exercise In The Colledge, Part Latin, Part English. The Latin Speeches Ended, The English Thus Began
© John Milton
Then Ens is represented as Father of the Predicaments his ten
Sons, whereof the Eldest stood for Substance with his Canons,
which Ens thus speaking, explains.
An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatic Poet W. Shakespeare
© John Milton
What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones
The labor of an age in piled stones?
Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
A Brown Girl Dead
© Countee Cullen
With two white roses on her breasts,
White candles at head and feet,
Dark Madonna of the grave she rests;
Lord Death has found her sweet.
Archy's Song from Charles the First
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Heigho! the lark and the owl!
One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:
Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,
Sings like the fool through darkness and light.
A Summer Evening Churchyard, Lechlade, Gloucestershire
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
THE wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray,
And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair
In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day:
Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men,
Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.
And like a Dying Lady, Lean and Pale
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky East,
A white and shapeless mass
Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I weep for Adonais--he is dead!
Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
Alastor: or, the Spirit of Solitude
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Earth, Ocean, Air, belovèd brotherhood!
If our great Mother has imbued my soul
With aught of natural piety to feel
Your love, and recompense the boon with mine;
Art Thou Pale For Weariness
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
Autumn: A Dirge
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
And the Year
On the earth is her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
